him.”
The mention of college gave a new direction to Gilbert’s thoughts, and they
talked for a time of their plans and wishes . . . gravely, earnestly, hopefully, as
youth loves to talk, while the future is yet an untrodden path full of wonderful
possibilities.
Gilbert had finally made up his mind that he was going to be a doctor.
“It’s a splendid profession,” he said enthusiastically. “A fellow has to fight
something all through life . . . didn’t somebody once define man as a fighting
animal? . . . and I want to fight disease and pain and ignorance . . . which are all
members one of another. I want to do my share of honest, real work in the world,
Anne . . . add a little to the sum of human knowledge that all the good men have
been accumulating since it began. The folks who lived before me have done so
much for me that I want to show my gratitude by doing something for the folks
who will live after me. It seems to me that is the only way a fellow can get
square with his obligations to the race.”
“I’d like to add some beauty to life,” said Anne dreamily. “I don’t exactly
want to make people KNOW more . . . though I know that IS the noblest
ambition . . . but I’d love to make them have a pleasanter time because of me . . .
to have some little joy or happy thought that would never have existed if I hadn’t
been born.”
“I think you’re fulfilling that ambition every day,” said Gilbert admiringly.
And he was right. Anne was one of the children of light by birthright. After
she had passed through a life with a smile or a word thrown across it like a
gleam of sunshine the owner of that life saw it, for the time being at least, as
hopeful and lovely and of good report.
Finally Gilbert rose regretfully.
“Well, I must run up to MacPhersons’. Moody Spurgeon came home from
Queen’s today for Sunday and he was to bring me out a book Professor Boyd is
lending me.”
“And I must get Marilla’s tea. She went to see Mrs. Keith this evening and she
will soon be back.”
Anne had tea ready when Marilla came home; the fire was crackling cheerily,
a vase of frost-bleached ferns and ruby-red maple leaves adorned the table, and
delectable odors of ham and toast pervaded the air. But Marilla sank into her
chair with a deep sigh.
“Are your eyes troubling you? Does your head ache?” queried Anne